Curricula

I’m disquiet in the realisation of the futility of teaching the youth, younger each year, they’re imprinted with antiquated ideas of the past, growing evermore ancient and defunct.

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In the Morning 

I don’t know if she likes the morning, nor if I do either.

But today’s a clear peach and pastel blue.

It seems the toll of work and divorce have hollowed this Lucian girl.

Our Blue Mountain blend yet to be had.

She has a home, sons and plans to renovate.

In the morning she’s ripped from the sanctuary of the night’s implausible ether

Again she all anew performs perfunctory morning routine. Awoken defeated.

Return

Silence paralyses, or so it would seem  to those with empty papers and momentary words.
A reprieve in a blink of summer, the drudgery of the United Klouds  vacate.
I’ve rediscovered my world, as if a marital feud ceased    with a glance of all its bounty.
Beauty, peace and a true love,  I cry    in refrain.

Just Past Midnight

Is it so that once Damage is done it can never be un-felt, I hear a bell peel which may never un-toll, its tinnitus latching to the day


A social Construction’s a something that doesn’t exist, in nature, a bastardisation of the natural, a fire to the ways before and all anew, a plain to see


Is to Forgive to un-see? To release, the feculence flung, to apologise and tolerate, to sponge and expunge


and Repression’s the submission of reality to our mind’s nether, nevermind; as if out of sight it ceases to be; as when I look at you I cease to see me.

What’s Different About Today

Nothing, it’s all a social construction. Nilhism comes second. I’m tired, Barnes says I’m fed up, but I’m not. I’m just lonely, lonely with a home. Home is where the criticism is. Through ether and Ash. I escape twice. I say I won’t… when my home is my own… I say… criticsm is infectious. That may be my addiction, I asked my best friend if I was a good bad friend, to improve… Ensuite anxious regret. I’ve justified paranoia. I’m right!

But I degress from the day, today. I find myself on my way. An unconscious decision aroused from a fuck it & go and an arriving tram.

…Today?

It is.

It just

is.

Dream

We’re an infinity of caramel limbs and cream cotton sheets.

Curtains curtailing hail and sleet

the world knocking at the window of our whispered softness.

The fan heaters on, you said you were cold naked.

Perhaps we’ll have pancakes for brunch,

Times moved on since you last entered my arms.

When you return I’ll make you chai tea, the one

your hands taught mine.